


The Fitzsimmons Game

by ohfiitz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Radio, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, The Hating Game AU, may switch to an M rating in later chapters, radio producers AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-03-11 20:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfiitz/pseuds/ohfiitz
Summary: Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz are co-producers at a thriving internet radio division. Both very young and very brilliant, the two make quite a powerful team. The only problem is that they absolutely, vehementlyhateeach other. When an opportunity for promotion opens up, their competition escalates, but so does the unresolved and undefined tension between them.An enemies-to-lovers AU based on the novelThe Hating Gameby Sally Thorne.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy so this is my first fic in like, two years lmao. It's super fun to write, though, and I've missed these two idiots so very much. Hopefully I'll be able to update it weekly! As always, any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Jemma Simmons prides herself in being a nice girl. She’s always followed the rules – no, not only does she follow the rules, she _reveres_ them – and delights in the fact that she is well-liked by at least 80% of her coworkers. She recycles. She has a monthly donation to a local charity. She brings a homemade cake to every staff meeting and has each and every BusFeed employee’s birthday marked with a glittery star on her planner notebook. But there’s a line. A line which, if crossed, could turn nice and friendly Jemma Simmons into the pettiest, most ruthless ball of hatred. And that line is Leopold Fitz.

 

Jemma and Fitz started as producers at BusFeed on the very same day. The then-still-budding digital media company had just began dabbling in internet radio, producing a couple low-budget podcasts that mainly catered to the millennial market. Melinda May, who singlehandedly fought for the audio projects to be greenlighted, had hired Jemma because of the remarkable success of _Rule One,_ Jemma’s own podcast from her college days. May had hired Fitz for the exact same reason, thinking that pairing up the two best independent podcasters under the age of 30 could give her new division the youthful energy that it needed. And they gave it that, alright. Within just six months after the pilot episode aired, BusFeed Radio’s first ever podcast, _Agents of Everyday Life,_ had millions of regular listeners and an engaged fanbase. For an outsider, BusFeed Radio has been nothing but a tremendous success. However, anyone who has ever stepped into the BusFeed offices would know that the three-person division has one glaring problem: Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz extremely and absolutely _loathe_ each other. Over the course of a year, the two young producers have developed a rather …. unique dynamic, to say the least. The growing evidence of their hatred for each other ranges from juvenile pranks and games to full-blown HR complaints.

 

The Fitz-Simmons archrivalry has gained so much notoriety at BusFeed that multiple theories have been formulated as to its origin. Some say it started when Simmons mistook Fitz for an intern when they were just starting out. Others believe it’s May who pits them against each other, just because it’s fun and creatively productive to watch two brilliant minds bantering day in and day out. There were even rumors that the two were on opposite ends of a love triangle with one of BusFeed’s most charming writers, Antoine Triplett (This is, of course, not true. Although both did harbor a crush on Trip at some point, but so did everyone else with two eyes and a functional brain.)

 

Whatever the reason that prompted this hating game to start, one thing is clear: neither Fitz or Simmons has any plan of stopping soon.

 

Which is how Jemma now finds herself gripping the edge of her desk, trying to fight the restlessness reminding her that there are hundreds of tasks worth more of her time than the bloody idiot in front of her. She hates the Staring Game. It means she has no choice but to stop working for a few minutes. Worst of all, it means she has no choice but notice how attractive Leopold Fitz actually is. Pasty skin, ridiculously curly hair, eyes that appear to contain every conceivable shade of blue. Ocean blue. Robin’s egg blue. Flecks of turquoise and _Starry Night_ swirls of blue. Van Gogh must have ended up in heaven to have the honor of painting Leopold Fitz’s eyes.

 

Fitz must have noticed her discomfort, because his dumb, stupid, ~~sexy~~ Scottish brogue suddenly breaks the silence. “What's wrong, Simmons? Finally noticing how sexy I am?”

 

_God damn it._

 

Jemma tries to cover her guilt with a dramatic eyeroll. “Please, Fitzy. Even that disgustingly greasy hotdog you had for lunch is sexier than you.”

 

She realizes her mistake as soon as the words leave her mouth, and Fitz is pouncing on the opportunity before she can even think of a redeeming punchline.

 

“Been thinking ‘bout my hotdog much, have you, Simmons?”

 

He is full-on grinning now, the absolute moron. Someday she’s going to knock all that teeth off of his filthy mouth.

 

But for now she settles for throwing a crumpled Post-it at his offending face. “Ugh, Leopold Fitz, you are such a child.”

 

“Ow!” Fitz exclaims, caressing his face in mock offense. “You _dare_ hurt a child, Simmons? I gotta say, that's low, even for you.”

 

“There is nothing lower than making inappropriate remarks to your coworker –”

 

“Oh, please. The innuendo came from _you_ – _”_

 

 _“_ – terribly unprofessional and –”

 

“– can't really expect me to pass on the chance –”

 

“– should probably be reported to HR.”

 

They both stop at this point, the word hovering between them more like a challenge than a threat. If there was any person who could reasonably claim to understand the whirlwind relationship that is Fitzsimmons, it’s Bobbi Morse, HR Officer. Like May, Bobbi adores them both, but the two of them together is the ultimate pain in her ass. When Bobbi had to take a mental health day after the Great Prosciutto Incident of 2016, they mutually decided on a ceasefire, at least on the HR front.

 

He folds his arms in front of his chest, studying her with an expression she now calls his scheming face, which slowly breaks into a mischievous grin. _Oh no._ “So… HR, huh?”

 

She juts her chin out pointedly. She is Jemma Simmons and she is not losing this game. “Yes. HR.”

 

“Is that our new safeword?”

 

“Ugh, Fitz!”

 

May appears beside them right then, her face wearing the usual mix of frustration and… something else that Jemma can never quite place.

 

“Both of you. To my office. Now.”

 

The two of them rise from their desks in practiced synchrony, and in the span of their one-minute walk to May’s office, Jemma has conjured a rather exhaustive mental list of all the things that could go wrong. _They’re gonna be fired. Bobbi’s finally had enough of their games and recommended their termination. Or maybe the entire division’s going under. The entire company? But the numbers were exceptionally good the past few months. Maybe they decided to pivot to something different_ – _maybe bitcoin? It’s been all the rage these_ –

 

“You’re not getting fired, Jemma.” May says, saving Jemma from her anxious spiral, then adds “Fitz isn’t fired, either” when Jemma’s relieved expression turns into a hopeful one.

 

“Then what –”

 

“I’m being promoted to Head of Entertainment.” May reveals in monotone, as though she just announced the color of the carpet and not a major development that’s going to turn the whole division upside down.

 

“May that’s great! I’m so happy –”

 

“– really happy for you –”

“– deserve it, really, after –”

 

“– hug you but unfortunately I still want to live.”

 

May shushes the two of them with a meaningful glare. “You do know what this means, right?”

 

It’s Fitz who answers. “Your position will be vacated and will be turned over to your best producer Leopold Fitz, and our dear Jemma will have to start handing out her CV as early as now.”

 

May ignores him. “They’re opening up the Head of Radio position to both internal and external candidates. The process is straightforward. You submit your application through the online portal. There will be a couple of interviews and you’ll be required to deliver a presentation. The future of the division is on the line and they want someone who can continue the success we all started. And you both know...” May’s voice cracks a little, “.. you know there’s no one I trust more than the two of you. But...”

 

“But only one of us will get the promotion” Jemma’s voice is soft but firm, and both May and Fitz know that the wheels in her genius brain are already turning.

 

 _Head of Radio._ Jemma silently rolls the words on her tongue. It’s everything she’s ever wanted. All those late nights at the studio, the loneliness, all the teasing she’s endured from her demon of a co-producer.... all of it has led her to this. It’s her childhood dream come to life. _Head of Radio._ She tests it again, the three little words suddenly sounding so heavy and solid and real and she is eight again, knock-kneed and painfully shy, hiding out in her father’s little shed to secretly tape her first “radio show” using a cheap cassette recorder her parents got her for Christmas. _Head of Radio._ It’s what she was born for, and now all that is separating her from her biggest dream is a cocky little demon-boy named Leopold Fitz.

 

She looks at him then to find that his deep blue demon-eyes are already staring at her. _Scheming face._ He’s here to win. But so is she. She tilts her face up and does something she hasn’t done in a very long time: She smiles at him.

 

The game is on.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_They would never have been friends._ That's what Fitz always tells himself. If he smiled at her then, on their first day together at BusFeed, if he shook her hand and told her his name and tried to make conversation instead of running away like a bloody coward, he would never have been good enough to catch her attention anyway, never mind gain her friendship.

 

When he walked into the office that first day, all shaky limbs and nerves, he expected to be greeted by a whole new world of opportunity and challenge, a chance to finally make something of himself and prove to… certain people that we was not the useless anxious nerd he’d always believed himself to be. He definitely did not expect to see the most gorgeous woman on earth. She’d worn her flaming red lipstick, even then. That was the first thing he noticed about her. The second thing he noticed was the way her round eyes had that sparkle that only held hope for bright things ahead. He recognized it, he had the same hopeful hunger himself. Only hers was framed in enchanting orbs of amber and electric blue eyeliner, so enchanting that his brain failed to register that she had greeted him and was holding her hand out for a handshake. When he snapped out of his trance, it was too late. She snatched her hand back and her face contorted into an expression that was equal parts hurt and annoyed. It was all too much. Fitz had always struggled with social interaction, but all the newness and the pressure and the deeply unsettling somersault that his stomach did every time he noticed something new about the girl rendered every last remaining ounce of his mental presence useless. The evidence of her embarrassment was the final straw, and his legs broke into a sprint before he even realized what he was doing.

 

When he came back, she had claimed one of the desks and had laid out a rather elaborate assortment of supplies and trinkets. He took his time settling into the desk opposite hers, although really, all he had bothered to bring that morning was his planner, a tin of mints, and his monkey fidget ring. It was only when he noticed she was using a wrist rest while typing on her keyboard that he managed to speak. “That’s… uh, that could actually do your wrists more harm than good, you know?”

 

“I’m sorry?” She answered with a tiny gasp, like she had genuinely forgotten that there was another person in the shared workspace.

 

“Your wrist pad. Putting added pressure on your wrist may actually compress the carpal tunnel and increase chances of the median nerve getting pinched. So, uh, I would recommend against it.”

 

He would later realize how utterly ridiculous it is that the very first words he spoke to her were a critique on ergonomics, but his comment also made her do the one thing that started their whole complicated dynamic: she cocked her head at him and continued typing rather loudly, holding his gaze in defiance.

 

He had her attention, and that was enough.

 

Surprisingly, it worked for him for an entire year… mostly. When he’s not engrossed in the way her freckled nose crinkles while she’s writing a script, or the way her eyebrows rise into perfect arches just before she tells him that _for the love of all things holy, Leopold, Elon Musk is_ not _the Antichrist_ , or the way she swipes her flame-red lipstick in the morning – so deftly and casually as though it were not the most breathtaking sight in the world – when he’s not busy being hopelessly in love with the person who hates him the most, it works. Sometimes he even gets her to laugh. At the very least, it was better than Jemma realizing how incredibly inadequate he is compared to her and ignoring him completely.

 

So that’s what he tells himself today, a particularly challenging morning by virtue of one Jemma Simmons wearing an emerald green blouse that complements her immaculate complexion. Fitz clears his throat and braces himself, making sure to fix his gaze on his planner and not on the five feet and four inches of torturous distraction making her way to her side of their workstation.

 

“Morning, Miss Simmons.”

 

“Mister Fitz.” She answers in a clipped tone and even with his eyes stubbornly focused elsewhere he can feel her staring at him.

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

“Oh no, none at all. Just thinking about what it’d be like being your boss.”

 

The mischief in her voice suggests she must have thought it would take him by surprise, but it doesn’t. Fitz has spent all twenty one hours since May’s announcement imagining just that. Not that he’s counting on it. This promotion represents everything he’s ever worked for in his life, and he has vowed to get it at any cost, unrequited office crushes be damned. And also he would rather resign than have Jemma as his boss, so there’s that. There’s no way he’s telling her any of that, though, so he just does what he does best: he riles her up.

 

“Well, when I’m _your_ boss I’m going to implement a strict corporate attire policy. No more of your bright retro outfits. Or that flashing red lipstick.”

 

_Yes, good job, Fitz. Start by telling her that you think about her lips._

 

Thankfully, she doesn’t notice. “When I’m your boss I’ll get rid of the microwave in the pantry and ban any comestible that contains more than two grams of trans fat.” (This is actually a reasonable threat. Fitz’s attempts to innovate an ultimate snack using pretzels and ramen have caused two microwave explosions.)

 

“When I’m your boss I’m going to work you so fucking hard.”

 

Jemma’s face and neck flush at this, and Fitz tries not to stare at the rise and fall of her chest.

 

“When I’m your boss, you’ll be on your knees, doing everything I say with a big smile on your face.”

 

_Is this flirting? This is definitely flirting._

 

“When I’m your boss, I’m going to make you work on an entire show solely about Carly Rae Jepsen.”

 

Fitz has been trying to convince her to do this since he first read _[A Scar No One Else Can See](https://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/8eddc5_7b95bc84db01477cad073f37bee1fe62.pdf)_ – all 149 pages of it – and she has vehemently resisted.

 

“Well then I guess I really have no choice but to win.”

 

She gets up then, ending their banter and leaving Fitz wondering exactly why. Sure, he knows that Jemma hates Carly Rae Jepsen, but it’s hardly enough to make her concede. The Jemma he knows would fire back a wittier retort and drive him up the wall. He must have said something wrong to knock her off-balance. What has he done?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is like an extended prologue, but I promise the *real* action starts next chapter! Also I've decided to alternate POVs between Fitz and Jemma, which I would probably regret sooner or later but, oh well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the super delayed update. I have no excuses except that a terrible case of good ol' writer's block hit me yet again. Also, note the rating change! There is some smut at the very start of the chapter.

Jemma gasps as she rolls her hips, feeling the hard, solid weight of his cock dragging against the wetness between her thighs. She feels the tip nudge briefly into her opening and it is electric and it is too much and she wants _more, deeper, more_ , but he suddenly angles his hips back and he is so far away from where she needs him. She digs her nails into his shoulders. Hard. Insistent. That should tell him. Instead he chuckles against her throat, the sound of his breathy laugh echoing in the darkness. It turns her on even more.

"Bit impatient, are we, Simmons?"

 _Please._ She thinks she hears herself whimper, no, beg – she was begging. _Please, more._

“I'm going to work you so fucking hard. So. Fucking. Hard.”

He pushes in right then and her eyes flutter shut out of their own volition. When she opens them, she finds herself staring into the signature-blue of Leopold Fitz's eyes. She'd always thought they were beautiful but god, they are even deeper and darker and blindingly gorgeous with lust.

It’s the intensity of those blue eyes that jolt her awake. When she opens her eyes again, she’s sprawled alone in her bed, panting and sweating and still highly aroused.

Holy quadruple shit. She just had a sex dream about Leopold Fitz.

Jemma groans as she wills her traitorous brain to wake up fully, registering her actual state to ground her to reality. She immediately notes three facts:

  1. It’s completely dark and, given the absence of her neighbor’s nightly noises, it’s probably past 2am.
  2. Her crotch is very, very wet.
  3. There is a little (miniscule, really) black dress hanging by her full-body mirror.



_Oh god._ She was thinking about Fitz last night, about the way he taunted her with that stupid voice and that stupid, confident smirk. _When I’m your boss, I’m going to work you so fucking hard._ She’d been so affected and she hated herself for it that she found herself unearthing the still-unused black dress from her closet (an impulse buy from when she first got paid in BusFeed), planning to taunt him back and get even. _That_ was the plan. But instead she gets _this:_ a vividly erotic dream about her archnemesis and his sexy annoying voice stuck in her head.

And so it’s with a sense of dread and abysmal levels of confidence that Jemma walks into the office later that morning, dragging her high-heeled pumps across the carpeted floor and resisting the urge to just cover herself up with a curtain or something. She must really look ridiculous  with the hem of her dress almost just below her bum and her hair all tousled in wavy curls instead of her usual neat ponytail. But when she catches Fitz gasping and very obviously trying not to stare at her bare legs (and failing), she knows it’s worth it.

“My eyes are up here, Fitzy.” She says saucily as she settles onto her chair, making sure that the hem of her dress hikes even further up when she crosses her legs.

This sends Fitz on a rather alarming coughing fit. “Who says I was trying to look at your eyes,” he replies flatly. “What’s with the dress anyway? Trying to make the most out of your remaining time without a uniform?”

“I have a date.” Jemma doesn’t know what makes her say it, other than the fact that she somehow wants to see how Fitz would react.

The answer came in the form of a skeptical smirk and a challenging “hmmm, yeah? With whom?” Not the reaction she was looking for, so she pushes him further.

“A guy. A man. You wouldn’t know him.”

“Sure.”

“He works here. But you don’t know him, I don’t think.”

“Okay. Hey, can you email me that interview transcript from yesterday again? I can’t remember where I saved it. Oh and also this mate of mine who works at Uber is in town and I'm meeting him tonight. Wanna come with? You’ve been wanting to do a story on their harassment policies since forever.”

It’s this flippant disregard, his knee-jerk assumption that she’s bluffing that cements her plan: she’s going to find a date within the day, and she’s going to shove it in Leopold Fitz’s stupid pasty face.

“Can’t. I told you, I have a date.” Jemma finishes applying her lipstick, pressing her lips together with a light _pop._ Fitz groans into his hands.

“Oh, come on, Jemma, I was just teasing you before. This --”

“And your computer has a search function; did you know that? I’m sure it’s easy enough for you to figure out,” she snaps before turning to leave. She is a girl on a mission now, and she knows exactly where to look for a potential date.

 

* * *

 

“Do you know if anyone here at BusFeed has a crush on me?”

“Well good morning to you, too.” Bobbi Morse turns in her swivel chair to face her friend. If anyone else barged into her office with that question, it would probably surprise her, but honestly? She’s gotten much weirder requests from Jemma Simmons over the past couple of years, and she’s willing to bet that this particular question is inspired by the same motivation as the previous ones. “Sofia Hernandez, from IT”

Jemma pauses to consider but then realizes a tiny detail from her conversation with Fitz. She really, really sucks at improvisation. “Ugh, that wouldn’t work. I told him it was a guy. Do you know a guy?”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure Danny from Design would walk on a tightrope if you asked him, but what’s really happening here, Jemma?”

“I just… I just really need a date for tonight. For… reasons.”

“Fitz reasons?”

“What?! Why would I even -- What does Fitz have to do with--” Jemma sputters and attempts to  wave the suggestion off with an exaggerated eyeroll, before giving up with a sigh. “Yes.”

“Jemma, this petty rivalry is getting out of hand. How’s your application for promotion going?”

Jemma’s guilty smile is enough answer for Bobbi, who then throws her hands in frustration. “See! This is so unlike you.” When Bobbi first met the English girl on the day she was hired at BusFeed, she already knew Jemma was one-of-a-kind. She was incredibly talented, feisty, yet kind and compassionate all at once, and she had an eye (or ear, as in the case of their Radio division) for stories that are both meaningful and captivating. Together, Jemma and Fitz make a phenomenal team, but their mutual competitiveness tend to get in the way.

Bobbi’s reprimand seems to placate Jemma. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re right. Of course you’re right. I should get my head straight and focus on the goal. Thanks, Bob.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

Jemma starts dragging her ridiculously high heels away from Bobbi’s desk but then pauses just by the door.

“What did you say the name was again? The guy from Design?”

_One last win. She’s going to play this one last game with Fitz and then she’ll set her eyes on the real competition._


End file.
